


If the Shoe Fits

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, I'm Sorry, Jealousy, M/M, Romance, Shameless and Gratuitous Puns, Too many puns, puns, silliness, snarry, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 12:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10307783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Snape suspects Harry is cheating on him and decides to don a disguise and find out for certain but, as always, things do not go to plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: For daughter_moon, follow up to Wears the Trousers, though it can be read on its own.  
> Warnings: Shameless and gratuitous puns.  
> Betas: angela_snape and alliekatgal, and all further mistakes are my own.

_Spinner’s End,_ Snape reflected, _was too small for the both of them._ Or at the very least, it was too small for the both of them _and_ all the presents. Snape tried not to look at the glittering pile of largess currently clashing with his dingy little sitting room.   


“Look, flowers!” Harry said with a grin, brandishing the bouquet.   


Snape scowled. “So what?”   


Harry looked a little miffed. “Well, _you_ never sent me flowers,” he pointed out.   


“The gifts I offer are generally more substantial and . . . last longer,” Snape replied, thinking of their previous night in bed together.   


Harry must have been thinking of the same thing, because he smiled faintly, his eyes distant. “Yeah, but it was nice of the Macmillans to send them, all the same.” He conjured a vase and popped the flowers into it, then set them on the table beside his chair. “Next!” he called out, and a brightly-wrapped box leapt from the stack of gifts on the floor into his lap.   


Snape sighed.   


Harry undid the ribbon round the box and pulled out a furry pair of mittens. He tried them on, and they purred in contentment. “These are from Hagrid,” the boy said. He rubbed them against his face, smiling at the softness.   


“We’ll have to put a lock on the dresser drawer,” Snape remarked, unimpressed. “And quarantine the things, otherwise they’ll eat all the socks and underwear.”   


“You know, you don’t seem very happy,” Harry pointed out.   


“Am I ever?”   


“All things considered, you should be.”   


“Hmph.” Harry went back to pawing through his myriad offerings while Snape raised his paper to block out the sight. “Who knew murder could be so profitable?” the man muttered.   


Harry made an impatient noise. “Snape . . .” he warned.   


“I’m only saying . . . I’ve killed plenty of people and no one showered _me_ with gifts. One little Dark Lord and you’re rolling in tax-free gratuities.”   


“You’re being unfair. And stop making yourself out to be some kind of serial killer. We both know you didn’t choose to do it.”   


“You ought to turn the lot away. This place is overrun with squirrelly gadgets and sentimental geegaws from your daft admirers. It’s ruining the ambience of my home.”   


“ _Our_ home,” Harry corrected. He stood up, and Snape lowered his paper. “Look, I’m going out for a bit.”   


“Where?” Snape asked, alarmed.   


“Just out,” Harry said firmly, and waded through his gifts to the Floo. Snape leaned forward and tried to make out what the boy said as he threw the powder in, but Harry spoke much too quietly, and then he was gone.   


Another night ‘out,’ eh? Snape felt a welling of anger. Potter was always being taken out to dinner or asked to some celebration or other, and was hardly around anymore. Worse, the boy refused to rise to Snape’s bait. It drove Snape mad. Half the fun of being with Potter was the flaming rows followed by equally passionate lovemaking.   


And now for the past couple of weeks, Potter had not only been dodging arguments, but avoiding Snape altogether. Having had an on-again, off-again relationship with Potter for the past several years, Snape was used to thinking of the boy as his property, but lately unpleasant rumors were beginning to circulate. Just the other day Snape had happened upon Harry dining with Lucius Malfoy, of all people.   


Snape eyed the flowers on the table, his lips tight. A note from the Macmillans could easily have been forged. Though Snape had retired from his position at Hogwarts, he did work part time at the apothecary and Potter had ample opportunity to mess about. While not a prepossessing property, it was home, and Snape hated the thought of the place being defiled, and the idea of being cuckolded rankled.   


Perhaps the brat was growing bored with Severus. Huffing, Snape tossed his paper aside. He had to know for sure, and there was only one way to go about it.   


OoOoOoOoO   


Snape secreted himself under the bed. If there were going to be any sexual liaisons, it stood to reason they’d take place in the bedroom, and Snape would be there to catch the brat red-handed. He’d just wait in ambush.   


It was after midnight when he heard Potter return, clumping round the house and calling for him, finally falling silent after finding the hastily-scrawled note which read, _Called out of town on urgent business. Will return in a couple of days._   


“In a couple of _days_?” he heard Potter moan. “What’s that greasy old bat up to now? And what am I supposed to do with him gone?”   


Snape heard the boy’s feet on the stairs, and soon Potter came in and flung himself down on the bed. “It isn’t fair,” the boy muttered. “And just when I’m all randy, too.”   


Snape shifted under the bed, listening to Potter’s sigh.   


“Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do.”   


Snape froze. Was this it? Was Potter calling for reinforcements? Would Snape’s rival arrive soon? And who would it be? Potter was popular; it could be the werewolf, one of the Weasleys, Lucius, Blaise Zabini, or even Longbottom. Who was Potter choosing to cheat with?   


The bedsprings began to squeak and Snape realized, with chagrin, that Potter was, in fact, wanking. Potter’s breathing was heavy and Snape could picture the boy spread out on the bed above him, legs splayed, hand languidly stroking his prick. Potter’s breath sped up, and Snape visualized his face; Potter would be flushed, fringe bouncing, biting his lip . . . After a few minutes, there was a soft moan and a whimper of “Snape . . .”   


Then there was stillness.   


Snape refrained from letting out a noise of impatience and shrugged off a twinge of guilt. So Potter hadn’t cheated—yet. Snape had only been gone for a couple of hours. Surely knowing his lover would be out of town for a few days, Potter would plan a tryst.   


Snape would wait.   


OoOoOoOoO   


The alarm went off at seven, causing Snape to blink his eyelets. What a terrible noise. He usually rose earlier than Potter and didn’t have to deal with it. Above him, he heard Harry yawning hugely and fumbling to turn off the alarm. In his just woken state of clumsiness, Potter knocked his wand off the nightstand, and it rolled under the bed and came to rest—   


Right beside Snape.   


Harry got out of bed and, still yawning, got down on his hands and knees. “Oh? What are these?”   


Snape was absolutely frozen. He was not getting off on the right foot. It was not part of his plan for Potter to notice him. He’d merely intended to sit innocuously and patiently until he’d caught the little wretch fooling around, and then he was going to curse the living hell out of anyone he could get his hands on.   


He certainly hadn’t intended to be caught himself. Having no choice, Snape stayed totally still.   


Harry reached under the bed and retrieved his wand, but then tugged Snape out as well. Potter let out a long, low whistle. “Se-exy,” he remarked.   


Snape was surprised by this and somewhat relieved to be in a state where he could not blush. He hadn’t had access to a mirror after his transformation, but he never would have expected Harry to call him sexy in his current state.   


Potter stood up, then sat on the bed, turning Snape over in his hands. “Wonder where these came from? They aren’t Snape’s . . . I know! They must be another gift!”   


With that, Potter loosened Snape’s laces and slipped the man on. “Perfect fit, too!”   


_Oh, no._ This was not part of the plan. Snape had only meant to hide under the bed, an innocent, unremarkable pair of boots until Harry’s tryst.   


He could feel the boy wiggling his toes.   


His _toes._ Snape didn’t have any kind of foot fetish, but the sensation was strangely arousing. Potter clomped over to the loo and stood in front of the mirror, striking a pose. Snape stared. Potter hadn’t looked so sexy since he’d been a pair of leather trousers.   


Snape came up to his knees, shiny and black. He made the runt taller, too—Snape had just a little bit of heel to him. Harry turned this way and that, tossing his hair and trying on a dazzling grin.   


“Wow,” Potter said. “I can’t wait until Snape sees me!”   


_If he only knew._   


OoOoOoOoO   


Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing, to be forced to accompany Potter on his errands. After all, there was no guarantee the boy wouldn’t meet his paramour in some hotel. This way, Snape could _really_ dog his steps.   


“Mr. Potter! You’re looking wonderful!”   


“Thanks!” Harry beamed, giving the man a wave. “New boots!” He passed the wizard and headed into the Three Broomsticks.   


“Ooooo, _Harry,_ you look _great!_ ”   


“Thanks, Lavender! What have you been up to?”   


“Not much,” the girl cooed. “Share a drink with me?”   


“Sure, why not?” Harry pulled out a chair and dropped into it, ordering a butterbeer while Lavender Brown fussed over him.   


It didn’t seem like a planned meeting, but the girl was coming on very strong. “I’ve been meaning to send you a little something since you defeated Voldemort, but I didn’t know what to get you,” Lavender confessed. “And I never get to see you anymore . . .”   


Harry laughed somewhat uncomfortably. “You’re seeing me now,” he pointed out.   


“That’s true! But I don’t have anything to give you,” Lavender said. She edged closer. “Oh, _I_ know . . . the hero’s due is usually a kiss!”   


Her foot nudged Harry’s, gliding along Snape’s body. She giggled flirtatiously.   


“Um . . .” Harry said.   


Snape kicked her in the shin.   


“Ouch! Harry Potter! What on earth is the matter with you?”   


“I’m so sorry!” Harry exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “I don’t know what happened. My leg just sort of jerked!”   


“That’s not the only jerk around here!” she replied tearfully, getting up and running from the pub. Harry started after her, but Snape put his foot down.   


“What the?”   


Snape cringed, feeling the jig was up, but before the boy could investigate further, he was interrupted.   


“Problem, Mr. Potter?” one of the other patrons asked, and the boy blushed brightly. The entire room seemed to be staring at him.   


“No! Sorry. Everything’s fine.” Harry plopped back down in his seat, squirming uncomfortably. Snape sat meekly under the table. Potter reached down several times, fingers fondling the soft leather, which did strange things to the potions master. After he finished his butterbeer, Potter stood up.   


“Right,” the boy muttered.   


He went straight to Gladrags. “What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?” the proprietor asked.   


Harry planted a foot on the counter. “What are these?”   


The man peered through his spectacles. “That,” he said carefully, “is a boot.”   


“I _know_ that, but it’s a _weird_ boot,” Harry replied, exasperated. “It kicked someone earlier, all on its own accord! Is it magic or something?”   


“Well, let me see,” the man said, opening a drawer. He pulled out a large, prismatic magnifying glass and peered at Harry’s toe. “Yep; it’s magic, all right,” he announced after several moments.   


Harry growled. “ _That’s_ useful. What _kind_ of magic?” he demanded. “I mean, are they cursed or something?”   


“No, there isn’t any kind of curse on them. They don’t have as much power as the Seven Leaguers,” the man informed him, “but they’re a bit magical. Probably have a bit of personality, to boot.”   


Harry sighed. “Well, thanks,” he said.   


“Anything else I can do for you?”   


“No,” the boy said reluctantly. “I have someone I’m meeting, so I should probably be going.”   


“Have a nice day, then.”   


Ah, so Potter was finally going to meet his lover. Snape marched along grimly, ignoring the stares and admiring whispers as Potter passed by. Soon, he’d finally meet his foe. He cooled his heels, waiting for the other shoe to drop.   


OoOoOoOoO   


Snape was worn out. So far they’d been to visit the Weasleys, went round to the Quidditch store and picked up a newspaper, and had supper with Hagrid, where Harry thanked the man profusely for the mittens, though thankfully the boy’s gratitude didn’t compel him to do anything sexual with the half-giant.   


It almost seemed as though the boy was avoiding returning to Spinner’s End. Dimly, Snape recalled Potter complaining that the place seemed barren—that it was devoid of personality. That was only to be expected; after all, until recently, Snape rarely spent any time there. Potter had been attempting to manipulate the man into redecorating, but Snape was resistant. For starters, he was on a shoestring budget and didn’t want to have to depend on Harry’s money for the project, but he also had deep reservations about Potter’s taste.   


Around eleven, it began to rain heavily, and Potter went into a pub and shared several drinks with his admirers. “To Harry!” someone shouted, and soon everyone was cheering.   


Harry clinked glasses with his seatmate and sloshed ale over his boots. Snape would have liked to lace into the brat for his clumsiness, but he toed the line. Surely his rival was among the crowd. Snape eyed the lot warily, but no one seemed like they could have filled Snape’s shoes.   


Finally, they trudged home. Potter, damn him, splashed drunkenly straight through every puddle, getting Snape muddy and thoroughly drenched. “What a fantastic pair of boots,” the boy crowed, stomping happily along. “Keeping my feet warm and dry and cosy.”   


_Walk a mile in my shoes,_ Snape thought irritably, feeling the cold mud cling to his rubber soles.   


The boy was in such a good mood he was practically waltzing, although it was hard to tell, given his innate clumsiness. Potter, Snape reflected, had two left feet. He tried to correct the boy’s dizzy spins, but that only encouraged the brat.   


“Wheeee!” Potter cried. “Almost as good as being on a broomstick.” He beamed down at his feet. “You guys have soul, you know?”   


Snape tried to get the boy to keep both feet on the ground, but Potter was simply too drunk to persuade, and once at the corner of the street, skipped all the way home. It was humiliating, Snape felt, to be made to skip.   


When they arrived home, Harry went to take Snape off, then seemed to think better of it. “Naw, I’d better dress to impress tonight,” he said, and began to polish the man. He brought out a jar of shoe polish and a rag and cleaned Snape off, carefully tending his scuffs and polishing his buttons up bright.   


Strangely, Snape found himself enjoying the attention. This was the sort of treatment Harry usually reserved for his broom, and Snape reveled in the care the boy was taking. It was a far cry from their usual rambunctious encounters. There was a lovely fire going in the grate and Snape wanted nothing more than to kick up his heels and read the paper, but before he and Harry could settle into a night of comfortable domesticity, there was a knock at the door.   


“Coming!” Harry called, straightening eagerly. _Too_ eagerly. Snape should have kept on his toes. Whoever was at the door was Harry’s lover—Snape would have bet his boots, such as they were.   


“Why on _earth_ did you insist on meeting _here?_ ” asked a drawling voice that made Snape’s toes curl.   


“I’m surprised you showed up,” Harry told Malfoy. “I thought you’d get cold feet.”   


Lucius sniffed. “Why are you wearing those hideous shoes?” he demanded. “You look like an underdeveloped dominatrix.”   


“I _like_ them,” Harry protested. “I think they’re sexy.”   


Malfoy rolled his eyes and pushed past the boy, sauntering into the sitting room. “And where is Severus tonight?” he asked without trepidation, causing Snape to frown. The man had no idea how much trouble he was in. He ought to have been shaking in his shoes.   


“What do you care?” Harry asked, plopping down on the sofa and summoning a couple of glasses of brandy.   


Lucius tried to look innocent. “I wouldn’t want to step on any toes,” he said.   


“Right,” Harry replied, sounding as unconvinced as Snape felt. The boy crossed his legs and Lucius smiled.   


“I’m actually quite happy to get you alone,” the man purred. “I do enjoy your company, and yet Severus always seems to be underfoot.” Severus scowled at this unashamed bootlicking.   


Harry smiled. “He’s head over heels for me,” the boy said.   


Lucius snorted. “At any rate, if you’d care to proceed . . .” He began to slip a hand into his cloak and Severus dug in his heels. He’d had enough; Lucius Malfoy was a pathetic coward and Snape was not afraid to go toe-to-toe with him.   


With a sound like a whip-crack, Snape unfurled upwards, billowing and working out the crick in his neck from having been stiff leather all day. “You conniving _bastard,_ ” he hissed.   


Lucius looked amazed, but not unduly alarmed.   


“Snape? I thought you had some sort of errand,” Harry said, blinking in surprise. “What the hell were you doing going round as a pair of boots?”   


Snape turned on him. “Don’t play dumb, boy! I know perfectly well what you’re up to! And after I spent the day waiting on you hand and foot! You bring this— _him—_ into my home and allow him to defile you?”   


“Defile me?” Harry repeated blankly. “ _Defile_ me?”   


Snape turned his wand on Lucius. “Get out,” he snarled. “Before I _obliterate_ you.”   


“What are you _doing?_ ” Harry demanded.   


“Giving him the boot,” Snape said between clenched teeth.   


Lucius sighed, put-upon. “Very well, though if you don’t mind, I’ll give Potter his picture, first.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a framed picture of Severus and handed it to Harry. “I trust you will find some way of remitting payment?”   


Harry glared at Snape and pulled a vial out of his robes. “Here,” he said.   


“What—what?” Snape couldn’t understand.   


“In return for a picture of you from your school days, I brewed Lucius a beauty potion,” Harry explained coldly.   


“You brewed a potion?”   


“I was only following in your footsteps. I can brew a mean potion if I have to.”   


“What’s this about a picture?”   


“From your days at Hogwarts,” Harry said patiently. “I wanted something to add a bit of homey feeling to the sitting room,” he added. He set the picture of Snape on the mantel, where a young Severus proceeded to glower and sulk from his frame. Harry sighed. “Doesn’t really brighten the place up as much as I’d hoped,” he admitted dryly.   


“Oh.”   


“I’ll just be going, then,” Lucius said. “I’ll see myself out.”   


“Why _him_?” Snape demanded after the man had gone. “I thought you were having an affair!”   


“That’s ‘cause you’re a paranoid old bat,” Harry said affectionately. “And of _course_ it had to be him—who else do I even know who knew you at school and might actually have kept a picture or two?”   


“Oh,” Snape repeated. He felt like a heel.   


“Well?”   


“Well what?”   


“Aren’t you going to throw yourself at my feet and beg forgiveness?” Harry asked, eyes twinkling.   


Snape huffed. “Absolutely not. It’s entirely your own fault. You were the one going round acting shady and trying to keep me in the dark. Why didn’t you tell me?”   


Harry sat back down, shaking his head and smiling ruefully. “I didn’t think you’d let me put it up,” he admitted.   


Snape looked at his feet. “Perhaps I misjudged you,” he muttered. He dropped onto the sofa beside Harry and kissed him. Harry, to his surprise, allowed himself to be kissed. He looked into the boy’s dazzling green eyes and ran a fingertip over Harry’s lips. “I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself,” he admitted. Harry kissed his fingertip. “Why do you put up with me?” he wondered aloud.   


Harry grinned broadly. “Well,” he said, “you do knock my socks off.” Snape smiled and lifted the boy from the sofa. “What are you doing now?” Harry asked.   


“Sweeping you off your feet,” Snape informed him.   


Harry laughed, wrapping his arms around Severus and wiggling his stocking feet. “So what were you going to do if you caught me cheating on you?” he asked conversationally as they entered the bedroom.   


Snape shrugged. “I was going to chain you to the bed and remind you why I’m the only one allowed in your bed. And repeat ad nauseam until you'd learnt your lesson,” he informed the boy, who smiled broadly.   


Snape set the boy on the bed and sat down beside him, pleased when Harry pushed him down, straddling the man and kissing him roughly.   


“Well, I wouldn’t go putting those manacles into storage just yet,” Harry said with an edge to his smile.   


Snape looked at him, surprised and suspicious. “Why not?”   


“Because,” Harry replied, brandishing his wand and pinning the man to the bed, then leaning down to nip his neck, “now the shoe is on the other foot.”   


Snape groaned. On the other hand, at least Potter hadn’t been cheating on him, and their relationship was still solid. Sex was always a bonus, as well. Maybe they didn’t have the perfect relationship, but they were making great strides.


End file.
